


Promethean

by OrodrethTheTraitor



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:33:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor
Summary: Short tales of the House of Finwë.





	1. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finwë wonders what the heck is going on.

_One thousand two hundred seventy years before the destruction of the Trees..._

* * *

Finwë waited patiently for the one he had summoned, but not for long -- she arrived with characteristic alacrity.

“Aiya, Alatatar!” 

Artanis smiled in a manner that few could match.   It did seem, the King thought, that the light of the Trees shone from within her, moreso than from any other of his people.  But on this occasion, he did not rise from his throne to embrace her, instead regarding her appraisingly.  After returning the same regarding gaze for what seemed an excessively long time, the young one continued.

"You called for me?"

"I did," the King replied.  He then rose, but did not step down from the dais.  Instead, he now fixed his gaze upon her with greater force, from his full height.  

To her credit, Artanis did not look away, as most would, but finally relented, curtseying, her smile a little less certain.  "I am here!"  

Having given this answer, she seemed to brighten again.

"Indeed you are."  Finwë did not elaborate, but continued simply looking sternly upon his grandaughter until finally she showed some discomfort.

"Have I displeased you, my King?"

"You have."

 "I did not wish to!  But what have I done?  Please tell me, so that I may not repeat it."

 The King now descended from the dais and sat in one of the lesser chairs usually occupied by counsellors of the now-empty court.  He gestured, indicating Artanis to sit beside him in a chair of equal rank.  She did so.

 "It seems not so long since I bounced you upon my knee, grandaughter.  How you have grown since then!  You are now among the great.  Yet there are still some lessons you have either failed to learn, or, in your pride, forgotten.  I hope it is the former."

Artanis now blushed, realizing the substance.  "I ... did not mean for it to come out that way!" 

Finwë now smiled.  "I am sure you did not, child.  Of course you could have given the same answer more politely.  However, the opposite answer would have been far better.  Princes should be generous.  It was such a small gift my son asked of you.  Why did you refuse him?"

She ran her hand nervously though her unbound hair.  "I do not trust Feanaro, Alatatar.  It seemed he wanted it for some hidden purpose."

"Beautiful as your hair is, Artanis, I do not think even Feanaro could  _do_  much with it, other than set it in a stone.  It is only hair, after all!"

The king pulled a tiny blade from within his robes and sliced several inches from one of his own raven braids.  "See, it is nothing!  Only hair; it will grow back."

Artanis said nothing, but looked as though she would very much like to speak further. 

At this, Finwë grew quite concerned.  He had heard  _other_  rumors about his son and granddaughter, but had always dismissed them as impossible lies, until now.  So, he spoke carefully.  

"But I must admit, the story as it came to my ears is scarcely to be believed.  Did Feanaro ask you for anything  _else?_ Perhaps something of greater ... importance?"

She replied in a flurry: _"NoheonlyaskedforthreehairsnothingelseFeanarodidnothingtodishonorhimselformeoryoumylordbuttotellyouthetruthIwouldnotgivehimevenone!"_

The King of the Noldor now wore an expression of utter bewllderment.  There was no deceit in his granddaughter's speech or eyes.  Apparently Feanaro had told him the true tale; he had politely asked Artanis for three of her ... hairs, and she had reacted... well, she had  _reacted._

"Very well, Artanis.  I approve of your refusal to do something that you feel strongly should not be done, though I cannot say I understand it.  I will not speak of this matter to you or to anyone else again, but if you wish to speak further of it to  _me_ at some future time, by all means do so." 

The elleth, understanding this as a dismissal, fairly fled.

Finwë looked down at his cut braid and wondered once more whether he had been right to bring his people West.  


	2. Twins and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Telvo talks with his nephew.

_One hundred fifty years before the destruction of the Trees..._

* * *

"She is beautiful."

Telufinwë regarded his nephew, collecting his thoughts.  

"Do you love her?"

Tyelperinquar looked astonished by this question.

"Well of course I do!  I love all of our cousins."

"And all equally?"

"Fine, I admit I have little love for Turukano.  But what of it?  You like him no more than I do!"

The elder sighed.

"Turvo  _is_  an ass.  But it wasn't Turvo I had in mind."

"Hmm?  Then whom... Artanis?  Certainly I love her!  She thinks too much of herself, but that is hardly uncommon in our family.  You and Uncle Pityo are the only modest ones amongst us," he laughed.

"Thank you... I suppose."  He sighed - Tyelpë, for all his brilliance, could be remarkably dense.  Or perhaps merely purposely evasive?

"Oh, very well, I will speak plainly.  Do you  _desire_ her?"

"Manwë in Varda, Telvo!  That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!"

The elder laughed.  "Take no offense, young one!  Surely you know about Turko and Irisse, so it was not unreasonable for me to think as I did, when you so oft praise our fair cousin's beauty."

"If you have not yet noticed, I am not Turko!  Artanis is beautiful, yes - but so are Amille, and Irisse, and Vingarië, and even Hisilrië!"

"Good!  I am glad to hear that.  Turko and Irisse - they cannot wed, of course, but neither shall either have any other, so they suffer greatly.  Or at least Turko does."

"I know."  the younger frowned.  "I pity them.  But it is passing strange to love one's cousin in  _that_ way.  You do not think so?"

"I have long grown used to it.  But let us speak of other things.  You must know that I am not the only one to have misunderstood ... this, for you spend so much time in Artanis' company and court no other maiden.  And there is Turko and Irisse's example, so people talk."

"I am not  _courting_ her!  Artanis inspires my work.  Not only is she my 'muse', if you will, but she has extraordinarily good taste in jewelry.  I know that if she likes something I make for her, others will as well, and since she sets fashion as much as anyone, I am receiving more commissions every day, and more oft from the daughters and wives of the minor lords.  I have saved almost enough to buy a house suitable for entertaining such guests, with land enough to build my own forge and shop.  And Artanis - unwittingly at first but with great enthusiasm more recently - has helped me more in this than anyone other than Atar.  In some ways, even more than Atar, for she has helped me 'come into my own', as it were."

"And she understands me, better than anyone, excepting of course Eressetor.  Even better than my own sister understands me, for Hisilrië is still half a child.  Our other cousins see me as little more than my father's son, which annoys me greatly, as you must understand all too well.  So, naturally, Artanis is my favorite cousin - why wouldn't she be?  And if others spread ignorant gossip, what of it?  Should I shun her for fear of what  _others_  might say?  Grandfather would have my head if I did!"

Telufinwë raised his hands in surrender.  "Very well, Tyelpë, you need say no more!  I will say only this.  Do you not expect that when you finally find a maiden to court, she will be jealous?"

The younger's face fell.  "This I have found already, Uncle.  They are all so .. silly!  But so am I, I suppose - I am only fifty-two, after all.  In another fifty years, or a hundred at most, surely things will be different.  I can wait.  We have all the time in the world, do we not, so what is the hurry?"

The elder sighed.  "I am ninety-eight, and cannot say that the maidens my age have changed much in the last fifty years.  Not in that way, at least.  I fear that waiting, in and of itself, will not help you.  Eru knows it has not helped me or Pityo.  The one unfortunate thing about being a twin is that no-one can ever understand either of us as well as we understand each other - and that makes women uncomfortable.  Unless we find another set of twins - and the only set we know are much older, with children and grandchildren of their own - I fear we shall never marry."

Tyelperinquar put his hand on his uncle's shoulder.  "Surely the two of you will find a pair of sensible women some day. Other twins will be difficult to find, but perhaps two sisters close in age and mood?  That could work, could it not?"

A smile.  "It might.  And as you say, we have all the time in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:
> 
> Telvo - Amras (Telufinwë)  
> Tyelpo - Celebrimbor (Tyelperinquar)  
> Artanis - Galadriel  
> Turko - Celegorm (Tyelkormo)  
> Turvo - Turgon (Turukano)  
> Irisse - Aredhel  
> Pityo - Amrod (Pityafinwë)  
> Vingarië - Maglor's wife  
> Hisilrië (OC) - daughter of Curufin, younger sister of Celebrimbor.  
> Eressetor - Erestor, Celebrimbor's neighbor & lifelong bestie.
> 
>    
> I don't buy the Celebrimbor-loves-Galadriel canon/fanon. JRRT changed this multiple times, and I think the loving-Galadriel bit applies only to the "Gondolin" version of Celebrimbor, who was NOT a Feanorian. 
> 
> But of course they _were_ cousins, and as the French say, "cousinage, dangereux voisinage!"
> 
> About the ages of characters: I know that the Years of the Trees were different, but assume the Elves still must have had some way of reckoning age comparable to that which existed in Beleriand and the rest of Middle-Earth later on (after Sun and Moon arose), else it's hard to make sense of JRRT's works. Here I assume Elves reached their majority at fifty according to THIS reckoning, so Celebrimbor is just past his.


	3. 9/16 Elven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On facts, figures, and family trees.

_Amon Ereb, YoS 545_

* * *

Maedhros strode into the room where his brother’s foster sons worked on the problems their tutors assigned them.  Given their youth, it was still mostly a play room, but during lesson-hours their various toys and games - sadly few in number, yet still a great luxury on Amon Ereb - remained stacked neatly on the shelves opposite the window.  Elrond, however, had recently announced to everyone who would listen that the room was now their "study", which had drawn smiles from the adults present and frowns of protest from his twin.  Now the boys were both bent over their figures, but one, he noticed, was not performing the task set to him.

"So, Elros, have you solved the problem?"

"Yes, Uncle!” The boy beamed. "If you can carry three packets of lembas, but must make a journey that would require four packets of lembas to return home without starving, you have to prepare for the journey by leaving caches along the way. You will need two additional packets of lembas on the journeys where you set up the caches. So, the total is six packets of lembas."

The famous “lembas” problem dated from the Great March, which had required the invention of both lembas and supply lines, but very few of the Noldor were able to solve it before the age of twenty or so, and the twins were only thirteen.  The boy showed promise…

Elrond’s frown indicated he had not yet solved the problem. 

"Do not be troubled, Elrond.” the elder said gently. "It is a difficult problem.  Even your Uncle Curvo had not yet solved it at your age."  

Of course, this was true only because at that age Curvo had spent most of his time chasing Moryo and Turko all over Tirion, and the rest of his time alternately astounding and annoying the rest of his family.  A few more years had passed before Feanaro showed him “lembas,” which Curvo then solved within less than a thousand heartbeats.  But Elrond did not need to know that.

The boy gave the slightest pout before turning on his twin, saying "But, what, brother, if someone steals the caches? Will you not then starve?", and then proceeding into a sulk that even Turko would have been hard put to match.

Maedhros knew better than to confront an angry child — especially one that was,  _however much he might wish otherwise_ , not his own — too soon.  I will speak to him in an hour's time, he thought. 

Elros, however, now looked confused. “Uncle, he is right! You will starve, will you not?" 

So soon to have to worry about such things, he thought sadly. Already the boys must learn to think of supply lines, rather than playing in the gardens and forests as he had at their age -  _but here they were_ , where war and the need to evacuate on short notice were far more than theoretical concerns.

"Yes." he said gravely, "You must set guards on the caches, and the guards must eat, but that is a problem you will not solve in an afternoon. Elrond saw this, and you may find you need his advice in such things. Do not forget that he saw it before you, and that you work best together. But enough of that!  I see you have set your mind to something else.  Tell me about it and then we will go find some dinner.”

Elros looked at the figures he had been working on — a sorry mess of lines they seemed now.  Embarassed, he blurted out "The others call us ‘Half-Elves’, and it's not right!"  

Elros’s hands then flew to his mouth before any more traitorous words could escape.  Elrond pulled out of his sulk so quickly he almost fell over, and looked upon his twin with the “You’ve done it now!” expression so universal to young children that had the situation been otherwise, Maedhros would have laughed aloud.

But it was not “otherwise.”  The boys knew well by now that if there was  _one thing_  not allowed on Amon Ereb, it was complaining about one’s fate or one’s lot in life.  When half or more (and for many,  _far_  more) of one’s own family and friends had died - or worse - trying to secure what little prosperity and safety they still possessed, when more continued to die - or worse - every year, for southeastern Beleriand was well-nigh overrun, and when one’s own Lord was missing a hand and covered in hideous scars, yet still stood firm and never uttered a word of complaint, well … 

Even so, the boys were only thirteen, Elros was clearly very sorry already, and Elrond was now clearly praying to any Vala listening that he would still have a living brother come sunset.  Maedhros therefore measured his response.

“Few in this city can claim greater lineage than you and Elrond.  What are a few words of scorn, against  _that?_ ”

Elros was clearly frightened, and half-squeaked.

"No, it's not that. I am proud of my forefathers. But I'm not Half-Elven!"

The elder frowned - was the boy in some sort of denial? "How so?", he asked.

"If my blood were divided into sixteen parts, the Elvish parts would be ten."  Elros exclaimed proudly. “They should call us 'Five-Eighths Elven'. Elrond agrees,” he said, looking accusatorially at his brother.

This was  _not_ the response Maedhros been expecting.  It was,  _it was …_  and his laughter filled the room and the halls beyond.  Half those on duty smiled at this rare gift - laughter was all too rare in Amon Ereb these days.  The other half wondered whether their Lord had finally gone mad.

“I see my brother has been neglecting your poetry lessons! We will have to amend this!”

But first, a secret had to be revealed.  The twins had not yet been told the true nature of their great-great-grandmother Melian. It did not do to tell children they were part divine - this tended to go to their heads. Even being one-quarter Maia was no protection against swords, as the astonishingly arrogant Dior had learned, too late. But it seemed the boys were now ready for it…

"And how do you conclude that ten of the sixteen parts of your blood are Elvish, penneth nin?  Four come from your father who now sails the skies, so how many from your naneth?" 

Maedhros had found that openly discussing the twins’ ancestors was the best track - it allowed much to remain unspoken.

"Six, of course!", the boy responded. "Four from Daernaneth Nimloth, and two from Daeradar Dior."

"No", Maedhros replied, "One from Dior."

Elrond immediately protested, "But Dior was truly Half-Elven, as our Star-Adar was.  Therefore two from Dior."

"No again. Dior's blood was less than half Quendi, for  _his_  daernaneth Melian was not an Elf as she seemed, but a Maia." Shock transformed the boys’ faces as the elder quickly continued; "Therefore you are nine-sixteenths Elven, three-eighths Mortal, and one-sixteenth Maia. Perhaps I shall decree that you two are now to be known as Nine-Sixteenths Elven." he concluded grandly, feigning gravity.  “Should I issue the decree?”

Elros looked around for a way to escape. Stern and kingly his Ada’s brother now seemed, and surely his answer would be important. "No, Uncle, well, let's ask Elrond, but I don't think he would like it either. I guess Half-Elven will have to do."  
  
The Lord of Amon Ereb grinned, and the many cares that beset him vanished, at least to to a child's eyes. "So, now that we have decided how you shall be known ever after, let's find my brother and dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Elros' grandparents were the Elves Idril and Nimloth, the Man Tuor, and the 1/4-Elf 1/4-Maia 1/2-Man Dior. The six-packets-of-lembas is a reference to a simple case of the famous "Jeep problem" - the age-old problem of how many supplies are required to make a journey longer than one can carry supplies for. The Elves would surely have considered this by the time of this story, very near the end of the First Age. Elrond and Elros, being brilliant (and part-Maia!) could work this simple case out while still quite young.


	4. Arafinwë's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On rule-following.

_Sailing back to Aman after the War..._

* * *

They all abandoned me. Departed over the Helcaraxë! Though all but one have now returned to Aman, I cannot see them, for Namo does not allow guests in his fearsome Halls. And the one who could still come back alive refuses to! All followed you, brother, though you deserted them bloodyhanded on the shore. Oh, they would all say they followed our other brother, but they would all be lying.

Feänaro, the Spirit of Fire, who I will never match. I followed all of the rules. Ingwë's. Eru's. You ... you followed none of them. Yet they all loved you more - even my own children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last sentences, are, of course, lifted from "Legends of the Fall."


	5. Up a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Amroth discuss sweethearts.

_Lindorinand, 1875 S.A._

* * *

Elrond had hoped his visit to Lindorinand would be restful, and it had been.  After the horror of the war with Sauron and the long labor of building and fortifying Imladris, Amdir's hospitality and perpetual good cheer were as a refreshing breeze.

At the moment, however, he was up a tree, and while Elrond did not dislike climbing trees, usually it did not involve such somber matters as he must now face. The heir of his host sat opposite him in this strange 'talan', looking half-crazed.

"Amroth, she does not love you. Not truly. That is the beginning and the end of it."

"How would you know, Elrond? Wise as you are, do you know her mind?"

"No, but her actions are plain enough for all save yourself to read. Your love for her blinds you."

Amroth looked angry enough to throw him from the tree, and since he possessed both the physical strength and the temper of his parents, Elrond felt more than a little fear. But Amroth made no move - just sat and fixed a hostile glare on his guest. The Prince had Galadriel's eyes, to be sure, so this too was most uncomfortable.

Elrond sighed. "Friend, do you remember Aldarion in his later years? He indeed wed Erendis after accepting her many conditions, but he gained little from it. Fate prevented him from keeping the promises he had made, and Erendis cared little for the reasons. That marriage should never have been."

Amroth's glare only intensified. "The hearts of Elves are not so fickle."

At this point, Elrond thanked the Valar for giving him patience, an even greater gift than wisdom, truth be told. The Prince was fey, and so this insult must be excused.  So he merely replied "Be not so sure, friend. It would be wise to consult your parents on this matter. Both would tell you otherwise, I think, as would most who remember the tumult of the last Age."

"Amdir bids me be patient with her."

Quietly and gently Elrond replied "Your blood-parents, Amroth. What grievance lies between them and you, I do not know, nor do I care to. But you will acknowledge at least that I have some experience with such matters. I would have much to say to my own blood-parents were they still on this side of the Sea, but they are not."

The fire left Amroth's eyes. "I am sorry, Elrond. My parents' advice is like to yours. Ada has told me several times of Daeron and Luthien. Forgive me if I insult your family once more, but I merely repeat Celeborn's own words. For all her heroism, Luthien's caprice and thoughtlessness cost the Sindar their greatest bard and loremaster. Ada still has not forgiven her."

"I have heard the same. I cannot comment, for I was not there, but such is life. Some gain, others lose. But let us return to the present, and look to the future! Hearts may be mended. Not all wed who they wish, but the wise go on. I do not think Nimrodel will ever wed you. And even if she does, I am minded again of the bitter words Aldarion spoke of Erendis, his wife."

_"She loves herself, with Numenor as a setting."_

"Such hearts are to be found in Elves as well as Men. I must tell you, I think Nimrodel's is one."

Amroth's fair face contorted into an ugly mask. "What know you of women, who have never wed or even had a sweetheart? You cannot know, and your cold words of 'wisdom' are like to those which have driven me away from my own mother. Get you gone!"

Elrond dutifully departed, climbing down as swiftly as he could, leaping the last twenty feet.  _Oh, but what I could tell you, not-so-young fool, if only you would listen! Have I never had a sweetheart? I know your pain, but I at least had the sense to flee it, and so retain some chance for a new beginning! Sad that you will not..._

As his heart cooled, he remembered the wonder that had been Silmarien of Numenor. Beautiful, enchanting, and possessed of a mind to match his own, yet never to be his. She had loved him indeed, but knowing she was of the mortal branch of Peredhil, had refused his hand. Firmly and with unmistakable finality. In that, Silmarien had been a thousand times better than Nimrodel, yet she had died, her fea forever lost to Arda, while Nimrodel would live on indefinitely. An injustice.

But he put both women out of his mind as he considered the prospect of reporting this failure to Celeborn and Galadriel. He could bear it, so long as their daughter was not present.  _That_ elleth, beautiful and graceful as her name, unnerved him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elrond might well have visited Numenor in the 6th-8th centuries of the Second Age, when Silmarien was a princess of that land, a male-line descendant of Elros. The 'She loves herself' quote is from UT.
> 
> And yes, this story is set in the year 1875 of the --Second-- Age, a full 3547 years before Amroth's death. He is the Prince of the Friendzone :)


	6. Close Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why the wedding of Elrond and Celebrian almost didn't happen.

_1801 S.A., Lindorinand_

* * *

The maiden stood, facing her friend, close to tears.  ”I love you, Glorfindel!  Can you not see it?" 

“I can — never doubt that!  But I cannot give you what you wish." 

"Why not?  You never bonded.  Are you not free?"

"Yes, and no." 

Celebrian's patience broke.  _She was not some commoner to be toyed with!_   "What then?  Are you one of those half-men Amroth jokes about?  We have danced often enough, and it was not disgust I saw in your eyes!"

He reddened.  "NO!  But ... Celebrian, why do you think I was sent back to Ennor?  I have a task set before me, and it is not for me to wed before it is completed."  He paused for a time before continuing, "Do not think that this pleases me.  Perhaps if I had bonded before ... that day ... I would have been left in Mandos, like all my other fallen friends.  Galdor, Ecthelion, and Rog are all still there, you know.  That is all I can say."

The two golden elves sat for a time in silence, before the younger finally broke the silence.  "Never have I believed Naneth's stories about the Doom.  But I believe them now.  Will I escape it?  Will you?"

Glorfindel wanted to comfort her, to embrace her and more, but it was not to be.  All he could say in reply was "I do not know, meleth nin."  After a long pause, he continued.  "But I  _will_  pledge to watch over you and your family - and you _will_ have one of your own - for as long as I can." 

 

* * *

_4 T.A., Imladris_

* * *

Elrond watched his Captain with growing concern. Losses at the Dagorlad had been grievous, but Glorfindel had ever been full of joy, whatever the circumstances. Over the past year, however, he had grown increasingly sullen - particularly around his lord.  Erestor had suggested that it was time for Glorfindel to lead his own House again, but the Peredhel sensed that that was not the whole of the matter.

After a particularly terrifying sparring session, the matter had to be confronted. "What troubles you, friend?"

"Celebrian,” he replied.

Only in battle, real or practiced, was the ever-polite, ever-courtly Glorfindel ever so blunt.

"Celebrian? Why should my ... why should she trouble you?"

"There you have it, Elrond. You said 'my', but you have not made her yours - not truly. Why do you delay? For if you do not take her hand soon, someone else will."

Elrond flushed angrily, then reminded himself that although only a handful of Elves had the right to speak to him in such a manner, the warrior before him was most certainly one of them.  

“I see." he responded, trying to gain time.  Insight came as a blow.  A rival!   _Of course there would be rivals!_  His beloved was one of the fairest in Arda, and by ancient law, he had no claim on her before a betrothal or bonding. Why had he delayed? He did not know ... but he  _did_  know that his friend and mightiest servant had just done him an unheard-of favor. He clapped the older Elf on the back. "I must ride to Lothlorien. This time, I shall not invite you along!"

His friend’s face only froze. This was not going well...

Elrond had been terribly discomfited by the Dagorlad, much as he loathed to admit it, but it was time for him to prove he was still worthy of his position. He dropped to one knee.  "Mellon nin, you are the most noble Elf in Ennor. I never understood why you swore fealty to me in the first place, but you did, and I let the matter be. If you wish it, I will release you from my service. Many would follow you.  You need only raise the banner of your House. There are more than a few that look for you to do so, and would give you advice like to that which you have just given me, if they dared. To take what should be yours."

The golden one looked away. More had 'dared' than Elrond knew. It had not escaped the more astute Elves that marriage to Celebrian would at the very least renew the House of the Golden Flower as a force, and perhaps even make Glorfindel the High King that many still looked for.  He was, after all, kinsman to both Ingwë and Indis.  Yet even this would not have tempted him, had his heart not been certain that he and Celebrian could enjoy a blissful union.  But in fact it was certain.

"I will consider it."

Elrond's face quickly fell, and Glorfindel, embarassed, clarified. "Not taking your beloved! Indeed, ride to Celebrian now, do not wait another day. But reestablishing my House, I will consider. At the very least I will leave Imladris for a while. Probably I shall visit Cirdan. Not to sail! I have no wish to leave Ennor.  I may be gone long, but if ever I return to dwell in this valley, you have my word of honor that I will not be your rival in this matter or any other."

 

* * *

_2510 T.A., Mithlond_

* * *

Glorfindel watched with a grim, set face as he watched his friend sail away, barely alive.  Though he had failed of his pledge - curse the  _yrch_  to the Void! - he would continue his protection, so long as the line of Celebrian and Elrond lasted.     


	7. In Remembrance of the Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance.

_Imladris, 2512 T.A._

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir rode stealthily up the Valley's eastern slopes, but they were not stealthy enough.  Two horses approached at a gallop. 

Thoughts of consequences approched even faster.  Elves did not take such revenge, even on Orcs, they had been told.  Stay within the valley, they had been  _ordered_.  Glorfindel was a stern Captain.  For this insubordination, they could expect formal censure, at the very least.  But to their surprise, the horsemen were not Glorfindel or Inglor, let alone their Adar.  Instead, they were Erestor and Tanamir.

The counsellor bore arms that he nearly always kept locked away: striking black plate armor emblazoned with the Star of Feänor, and Imladris' sharpest sword, forged and long borne by Curufin.

Tanamir, Erestor's heart-son, was similarly arrayed for battle, but as always, the Master of the Mirdain carried twin one-handed swords of his own design.

The Noldor also wore expressions as dark as the starless night.

Elladan greeted them gravely.  "You are not here to lecture us."  

"No.  Our goal is the same as yours."  Erestor replied.  "Yet when  _we_ hunt Orc, we do not bear the devices of Imladris. For us, this is a private family matter.  I may honor my children and Tanamir his wife in the way we see fit.  Were it only a private family matter for you, equally you might honor your mother.  But as your Lord Father has forbidden you any further vengeance, continuing it while arrayed as you are is nigh unto treason."

"More so than openly wearing  _those?_ " Elrohir questioned, with a sharp glance at his interlocutors' arms.

Tanamir replied calmly.  "Has Elrond not forbidden you these missions of reprisal both as your Lord  _and_  as your father?  He has not forbidden them to us in either capacity."

"Then he approves of your own revenge upon the Orcs, but not ours?"  Elrohir asked incredulously.

Erestor shook his head, refusing the question.  "As I said, ours is a private family matter.  However, if you will hunt with us, I counsel you to leave anything which identifies you as  _Imladrim_  here in the valley, where you may find it again.  Staining the emblems of your Lord with blood shed against his orders is a violation of the law. And you may remove all such items without disarming yourselves.  Now, shall we remain here arguing, or go forth?"

Somehow removing the emblems of their lifelong home seemed a step too far, even when disobeying their father-Lord and Captain did not.  The Peredhil wavered but a moment before turning back towards the Last Homely House, riding away without another word.

"Well done, Atto."  Tanamir whispered with a rueful smile.  Elrond had ordered all his senior captains and counsellors to help heal his sons of this 'affliction', and it seemed the twins would now find their own way to healing, as most in the valley would deem it.

"I hoped that would work," Erestor replied, "though I would have been glad of their companionship.  The path they just chose is the nobler, at least in the manner of Arafinwë, but I fear it will avail Imladris little."

For a moment, the counsellor stared blankly into the night. Ever since the death of his son in the Nirnaeth, and even more since that of his daughter in the sack of Eregion, he had been taking private revenge on the Orcs. The foul creatures were multiplying again in the mountains, and now there was one more kinswoman to avenge.  It was true that his vengeance did not bring his children back.  However, it was also true that it took the Orcs' children away, and that no one in Imladris would complain that there were too few enemies about.

"From now on, every Orc we slay shall hear the name of Celebrian as well as those of Nierië and Etarnó."

The Smith simply nodded as the two rode out of the valley and the hunting trip began.  His wife Nierië, Erestor's daughter, had suffered outrages even worse then those inflicted on Celebrian before her feä had fled to Namo's Halls - and her hröa had been further marred even after!  Never would he forget that sight, and never would the Orcs be free from his vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The elves were the first to charge. Their hatred for the goblins is cold and bitter." -- The Hobbit
> 
> Nierië and Etarnó are Hisilrië and Erestor's children. Tanamir is Nierië's widower. Celebrian is Hisilrië's second cousin (through Finwë), making Celebrian Erestor's "kinswoman". 
> 
> My Inglor is Angrod's son and Gildor's dad :)


	8. Cousinage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A truly tangled family tree.

_Imladris, T. A. 3003_

* * *

"Ah-choo!"

Bilbo reflected that old age had indeed caught up to him. He had caught a cold after a wintry day's walk, but unlike all those that had troubled him the past sixty years, this one had not gone away with rest, instead deepening into the flu. Yet though the grave might be ready for him, even now he was not ready for it, and in Rivendell even the flu had its compensations. The healer, apparently a high personage, was not quite as beautiful as the Lady Arwen, but that observation was rather like complaining that a star was not as bright as the Sun.

"Forgive me, Lady, but I cannot remember your name." Bilbo croaked. "I do remember meeting you on my last visit here, but only briefly, and sixty years is a long time for my kind."

The Lady, inwardly amused at the  _perian_ 's not-strictly-medical interest, spoke softly as she tended him. "I am Hithriel. And I think that perhaps you are not as ill as you seem!" This was not wholly honest. The old Halfling was indeed seriously ill, and she worried for him, but it was not for healers to tell their patients of their fears.

"Well, I don't know about this dratted flu, but if it brings your company, perhaps I should take my winter strolls more often!" Bilbo joked.

The healer laughed, but said "Not if you wish to continue seeing me with living eyes! But need you be ill to see me? In all my long years, I have known none of your kind save yourself.  I would like to learn more of Hobbits. Are all as ... interesting as you?"

"Unfortunately, my Lady, we are mostly a dull folk. Some of my relatives... but no, I would rather hear a bit about  _you_. To whom are you kin here in Rivendell?"

"Ai, that answer will be long! Are you certain you wish to hear it  _now_?"

Bilbo sat up. "Lady, a Hobbit on his deathbed would hear such a tale, and I am not quite that far gone, I think, so tell on!"

Hithriel, though somewhat taken aback by the strength of the response, obliged.

"Very well! I hear that you are fond of ancient lore, so surely you know Erestor, my husband."

The Hobbit nodded enthusiastically.

"And you know Lord Elrond, of course. He is my second cousin, twice removed to the younger as Erestor tells me you phrase it.  We do not use such terms, but merely call each other 'Cousin' or 'Kinsman'.  Hobbits' specificity is remarkable."

The healer mused for a moment before continuing. "So the sons of Elrond are also my cousins. And his wife was, is, my second cousin directly." The elleth paused, remembering the old grief, before continuing. "Doubtless you know Glorfindel - he stands out enough! He is my third cousin."

The hobbit figured for a moment. "Remarkable! Does that mean, then, that you are also cousin to the Lady Galadriel?"

Hithriel frowned for a moment before continuing half-merrily. "Of course. Being the mother of Celebrian, she is is also my second cousin, but once removed to the elder."

Bilbo saw the disdain on the fair face, and croak-laughed aloud. "I do not like all of my relations either. The ones who were originally my legal heirs, I found so distasteful that I adopted young Frodo. But he turned out so well that I am ashamed of having had dislike of others as a consideration for taking him into my home. Well, things are complicated when one has no children. Have you and Erestor any?"

_This never grew easier._  "We did. They were slain, long ago. Let us not speak of grief today."

Bilbo reddened. "I am very sorry, my lady. You appear so youthful to me that I can never quite grasp that you are older than I am, let alone that you must have lived many an Age."

Trying to turn to lighter matters, he offered; "But if you are cousin to both Elrond and Galadriel, you must come from an illustrious line indeed!"

The straight-backed elleth seemed transformed for a moment, pride lifting the burden of years. "We are all descendents of Finwë, the High King of the Noldor. I am his great-grandaughter. Feänor, of whom you no doubt have heard, was my grandsire. Of the tales you hear sung in the Hall of Fire, I have lived many."

Bilbo was astonished. "Well, of all my adventures, being treated for a cold by such a daughter of Elf-Lords is one of the more unexpected! I .."

But the Lady cut him off. "Remind me not of how far our House has fallen!"

The Hobbit looked abashed, and the elleth softened.

"Not that I dislike my craft - it has been my delight, since I was little more than a girl. Not without merit was I Mistress of the Envinyatari in Ost-in-Edhil.  But occasionally I still wish that I were not  _only_  a healer, and such thoughts lead me to misdoubt the peace Erestor and I have found here in Imladris. We came, long ago, to dwell in the House of Elrond, in high positions, yet as subordinates. It was, at first, a hard decision. But we have found our stations, it seems. Elrond's stewardship of this valley has been remarkable, and we are glad of it."

The elleth looked sad, but only for a moment, before regaining the otherworldly, faint luminescence that Bilbo was beginning to understand attached only to the ancient among the Elves, those older even than Elrond, and not even all of these.

"So," she said, "when you sit in the Hall of Fire and hear songs of Finrod or Fingolfin or Feänor or Gil-galad, think of me, and if you would know more of them, ask me or Erestor or Glorfindel, for as you now know, we knew them all personally!  But rest you now - there will be time for more tales when you are well."

* * *

_A week later..._

The Sun was bright and held the promise of Spring. Bilbo found the healer in one of the many gardens. He gave her a deep bow. "My Lady, your skills are remarkable. I feel fifty years younger. I had worried I might have started my last decline. At my age, such is to be expected. Well, I am ... at your service. I would have said 'forever', but that is a silly thing for an old Hobbit to say to an Elf."

The intensity of the elleth's smile added to the warmth of the day.

"I am glad to have helped. Do I guess rightly that you now come to collect your tale-debt?"

"That I do, my Lady!" the old Hobbit laughed. "Since I am bidden not to go on any more of my walks for a time, I thought today a good one for hearing tales. And also I recall that you wished to know more of  _my_  family, though I warn you, though my life has been short by your counting, if I begin that tale, you may find I am, how do you say it? Longwinded?"

Hithriel laughed, for of course Erestor had warned her of just that. "Perhaps I should tell my tale first?" she suggested.

The old Hobbit nodded eagerly.  _No doubt the deeds of her kin make for better tales than Gerontius' foibles or my young cousins' pranks, at least to anyone who is not a Hobbit,_  he thought.

"Whom then shall I tell you of?"

"Well, how about your brothers and sisters?"

The smile vanished, so Bilbo quickly added "In happier days. You must have had some! But I do not wish to impose. Forgive me, it is a trait of my folk. No living Hobbits have had kin killed in battle, so it is a hard grief for us to wrap our minds around. Or tell me of your childhood - whatever you prefer."

The elleth replied "Your folk are blessed, then," before brightening. "But you speak wisely. I spent many happy days in my brother's company when we were young, and even many under the Shadow. Very well, I shall tell you of my childhood, and of my brother."

"Celebrimbor was only twenty years older than me - our births were close together as the Elves account it. And so we were close, and protective of one another. That was the way of our family."

"He was very fair, though he took not the care with his dress and appearance that many do in Imladris. Lessons or play occupied our days, but we had little time for things we deemed trivial.  Such we learned from our parents, and they from theirs. My father was one of the greatest smiths of our people, surpassed at that time only by his own father and grandfather Mahtan, so it was only natural that my brother became a smith himself. And indeed he became a great one, in time."

"My mother and her sister were healers.  Although we then lived in a land with no enemies, or so it seemed, still some took hurt in accidents, particularly while hunting or at other sports. So, equally naturally, I followed my mother's path."

"And though we were of the line of the King, we were only minor great-grandchildren, so we knew not the burdens of princes. Not then! It was a happy childhood, shared with my friends, my brother and his friends. Indeed, his closest companion was Erestor. So I cannot remember a time when I did not know my husband. Does that seem strange to you?"

"Not at all." the Hobbit replied. "Who would make a more natural match than a friend of a close kinsman? It makes for strong families. Half the marriages in the Shire are such - that is why we are all cousins!"

The elleth smiled. "So it was with us, in those days. Most of our cousins were far older, but some were our age. Argon son of Fingolfin and Idril daughter of Turgon were close childhood friends of mine. If you think me fair, you should have seen Idril! She was Elrond's  _grandmother_ , you know!"

Bilbo dared not interrupt - the ancient ones seemed to carry the weight of the world within themselves, and it was rare to see one so unguarded.

"When we had free time, we would visit one another, or our older relations. Celebrimbor and I were fond of Fingon, Orodreth, and Angrod in particular, as well as various kinsfolk of my mother and her parents, whom you doubtless have never heard of. We mostly dwelt in one city - Tirion the Fair it was called, and so it was! Imagine, if you will, Imladris, but a hundred times larger."

"Once we grew a bit older, we would ride together to the Mountains, or the Sea. Not often, for by then our crafts and apprenticeships called all of us. Perhaps we worked harder than was wise, but that was the way of our folk."

"My brother came to spend most of his time with our father or grandfather, at the forge. But the duties of healers and scribes were lighter in those days, so oft Erestor - did I mention he was a scribe and messenger for Finwë? - would come to our house seeking Celebrimbor, and finding him gone or occupied, would instead visit  _me_ ".

"And after a time, Erestor began to visit when he knew quite well that my brother would not be at home, and " - the elleth grinned mischievously - "it is my belief that King Finwë sent him to our House with messages to Atar a good deal more than was necessary. A conspiracy!"

"A happy one, though, for one thing led to another, and before my hundredth begetting day I was wed. That was a great day, but since it marked the end of my 'childhood', I will end the tale for now."

"Thank you, Bilbo, for helping me to recall those days. It is refreshing to tell of them anew." But it seemed the Lady was distracted, for she looked past him.

Bilbo turned to see Erestor standing at the edge of the garden.

"Conspiracy? If so, it was a conspiracy of one. I would not have dared ask the King to send me on such visits."

The Elf smiled warmly and turned to the old Hobbit.  "Yet I do not doubt he knew more than we guessed at the time!  And seven thousand years later, here we are. Now you have heard much of my childhood as well. It was a good one. And though much is darkened, some things have not." he said as his gaze returned once more to his wife. 

Bilbo bowed.  "Thank you, my good Elves, for a wonderful tale. I think I will go indoors and find something to refresh myself. Enjoy the day!"

The old Hobbit concealed his mirth until he was well out of sight and hearing, and then, feeling well-pleased with himself, whistled as he walked back to the House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mistress of the Envinyatari" indicates that Hisilrië/Hithriel was head of the Healers' Guild.


	9. Why, indeed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is put to the question.

_Imladris, T.A. 3007_

* * *

Elrond sat in the Hobbit's small room, looking at nothing in particular, in a manner indicating he was at least half asleep. Bilbo could not quite figure out a polite way to ask the question which had burned lately in his mind, but he could not be sure of ever having a chance to ask in private again.

"For once, I think I have caught  _you_  napping, old friend!"

Elrond startled and looked surprised. "So you have."

"I have won the wager, then!" Bilbo replied with glee.

The Peredhel inclined his head, wondering what impertinent question the old Halfling would ask - he had foolishly promised to answer  _anything_  if Bilbo ever caught  _him_  napping. And now, a year later, he had been foolish enough to remain seated in Bilbo's room when the latter began a long tale of the doings of the Bolgers.

"Very well. What would you know of me?"

"Why are you the Lord of Imladris?"

"Ah. Why, indeed? I am not the most impressive of its dwellers?" The Eyebrow raised menacingly.

Bilbo did not flinch. "I meant no insult, Master, but don't forget I once insulted a live dragon, and lived to tell of it! I won the bet fairly, did I not?"

Elrond laughed. "Very well...."

"I think you mean to ask, why am I lord here, when I am not a born king, and what put or puts me above the others?"

At the Hobbit's eager nod, the Peredhel continued.

"Master of lore I am called, but I am not the mightiest in Imladris. I need consult the records from time to time. Erestor, however, has never forgotten a single thing. Any problem that can be solved  _by reason_ , he can solve thrice faster than I."

"Nor, though I once stood against Sauron, am I the mightiest in arms. Glorfindel far surpasses me, and always has. Had he chanced to stand with Gil-galad, Cirdan, Elendil and his sons at that famed contest, perhaps we would still have a King. But unfortunately, he had been drawn off by the Nazgul."

"Nor, though it counts for little in these days, am I the tallest, or the fairest, or the mightiest in song, or any of those things which the Elves are said in tales to hold dear."

"Yet I am Lord here, nonetheless. Initially, I admit, because Gil-galad made me so. But this past Age and more, it has been because those who dwell in the valley wish none other."

"Perhaps you know that there are others here who might have some claim to lordship, did they press it. There are several who are senior to me in the House of Finwë. But either they do not inspire, or they have deeds behind them which many here are unwilling to forget or forgive. I am not among those, mind you, for I understand what drove them in the dark days, and that darkness is long past."

He mused for a long moment before continuing.

"Glorfindel is a different story. Unless you chance to meet Galadriel, you will see none other like him. But though he is by right a lord, he does not desire lordship. If he did, many would follow him to whatever new demesne he chose to establish."

"Yet not as many as one might think, for I seem to have been gifted with a power over Elvish hearts. Also, I hold that of which we may not speak; I know you know of it, though I do not understand how. So, I am the protector of this valley. That counts for much. In truth, that is the deciding factor, even above my personal qualities."

"Yet even that object, I received from Gil-galad, who was under no obligation to give it to me. I was never his legal heir. He had none."

Elrond fell silent again, remembering. Had he either been Gil's heir outright, or, even better, had Gil actually troubled to produce a son and that son had survived the War, his own troubles over the past Age would have been far fewer.

The Lord of Imladris rose. "I hope that will suffice, Master Hobbit."

But as he exited the room, his back to the Hobbit, the words came, quiet but distinct. "Mention the Bolgers again and you will be escorted to the nearest Warg den."

It did not sound like he was joking, and eleven years later, when his young cousins chanced to visit, they found it odd that their uncle did not inquire after Fatty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "not the mightiest in Imladris." -- my Erestor was Master of the Lambengolmor of Ost-in-Edhil.


	10. Not so like Luthien, after all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen ponders her fate.

_Minas Tirith, F.A. 110_

* * *

This was not what she expected or had been given to understand from the tales of Luthien and Beren.    
  
Nor from those of Idril and Tuor - the tales had said that Tuor had felt the bite of old age at only sixty!  That could not have been, and the few survivors of the Sirion colony that she had known, had claimed no frost had touched Tuor - the couple had simply sought their destiny upon the Sea.  
   
Today her husband had reached two hundred years of age.  Aragorn was still strong, though his hair was white, his face creased, and he tired far more easily than he had in the glades of Lothlorien so long ago.  
  
She loved him no less.  His aging, in itself, did not trouble her overmuch.  She had always understood he would age and would soon leave Arda - had she not seen many Chieftains bounce around Imladris as youths, and then, seemingly but a few seasons later, return to Imladris at the end of their lives, creaky, sickly,  _old_?  No, Arwen had seen more than a few Mortals wither with age, and her husband was not to that stage yet.  And even when he reached it, as soon he must, it would not be unbearable.  
  
What  _was_  unbearable was that she did not age with him.  In choosing a mortal life, she had assumed she had chosen all that went with it.  Yet outwardly, the hundred fifty years since their trothplight had not changed her in the slightest.  Even inwardly, she felt none of the weariness of feä she had expected to assail her by now.  
  
Yet the diverging paths, while they still lived, were destroying them.  Aragorn was wracked with guilt, for he too had believed in his heart that they would grow old together.  But it was not so.  It was, instead, as her father had warned.  Aragorn would weary, and she could neither help him nor even properly share his fate.    
  
If, when he died, the grief did not kill her, what could she do?  She had no desire to remain as a Dowager Queen of a realm of Men and perhaps see her children age even as her husband now did.    
  
What then?  Return to Imladris?  Though her brothers and a few of her friends remained, time had come there, and to look on the faded valley would grieve her to no end.  Lorien was even worse, both faded and abandoned.    
  
The path West was now barred her.  Though she did not regret that gift to Frodo, in her weaker moments, she did wish that the Hobbit had declined it.  
  
There was still her Daeradar's realm in the Greenwood, and Celeborn had begun to hint that she would be welcome there after what ... must occur.  But no, that would not do either, she knew.    
  
The truth was, there was no going back, nowhere to go.  She must follow Aragorn into death, as foretold.  But it seemed it would not be an easy thing.  In her heart, she knew she would not simply fade from grief, unless she willed it.  
  
The Evenstar shuddered as she realized that that was exactly what was demanded of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story owes much to Gwynnyd's "The Lap of Time".
> 
> "And for all her wisdom and lineage she could not forbear to plead with him to stay yet for a while. She was not yet weary of her days, and thus she tasted the bitterness of the mortality that she had taken upon her." -- JRRT, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen


End file.
